


Don't kill me I love you

by LilithEstrange



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Alternative Lifestyles, Anal Sex, Angst, Character Death, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, M/M, Murder, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 18:50:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8338810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilithEstrange/pseuds/LilithEstrange
Summary: Dean Winchester is a professional contract killer who uses sex to relieve stress. One night he meets Castiel, whose blue eyes captivate him more than anything else up until that moment. But his life takes a drastic turn when he gets hired to kill the man who he is starting to fall for.





	

„Na na na were shaking, the earth was quaking“ Dean Winchester sang to himself, so quietly, an inattentive listener would have mistaken it for humming, or louder breathing perhaps. Admittedly, he was not the most gifted singer, compared to Whitney Houston for instance, but neither was Mick Jagger. A tiny lack of talent did not mean he was not allowed to enjoy himself from time to time. Moreover, he was the only person standing in the decrepit, grey parking lot, the only one who inhaled the rough air as he watched the dust particles dance before the ramshackle window. The thin beams of light, that managed to fight through the dirt covered glass, enlightened the space in front of it just enough, that it almost had a hypnotic effect on whoever was watching. 

He shook his head slightly, as if to wake up from a sudden daydream, but he knew – the cinema in his head was much more than just that. The blue eyes, the few shots of Jack, the naked skins rubbing against each other, the warm breaths that were exchanged. He could not help but wonder what it was with that particular one night stand that made him think about it the entire following day. Considering his very consuming job and the level of stress he had to tolerate each and every day to remain remotely sane, it was completely reasonable that he needed an outlet, a valve, to relieve the tension inside his mind from time to time. And that valve was sex.  
He could not stand relationships, though. The constant checking if the other person is alright, romantic dinners and explanations for everything one does grossed him out. He was not the type for that. He was more of a lone wolf, you know, emotionally unplugged. 

He wiped the bloody knife with a black, soft piece of cloth.

But then again, those blue eyes embarked his head the night before and did not give him any peace from that very moment. No matter what he did, no matter where he was, the only thing occupying his mind was them. 

He stooped towards the body lying before him. Swiftly, he placed the blood stained cloth in the pocket of the dead man’s navy blue suit jacked.  
“Armani, huh?” he noticed. He liked the suit. Maybe he would get it sometime later, he was still unsure. 

He grabbed the man under the armpits, careful not to get any blood stains onto his own suit, which was black, just in case. He placed the body onto the driver’s seat. Abruptly and without any warning to the poorly treated corpse, he grabbed it by the back of its head and slammed its face against the leather wheel. He turned the car towards a nearby concrete pillar, started the engine and placed the man’s foot onto the gas pedal. What followed was an obnoxiously loud crash which must have caused someone to wonder what the hell was going on. Knowing that he did not have much time left, he poured plenty of gasoline over the car and the body, drawing a line with it away from the pile so he could safely ignite it. And so he did.

If someone had seen Dean Winchester in the street somewhere, they would have mistaken him for a businessman of some kind. Probably not a lawyer, though, he did not really look like one. That title belonged to his brother, a very prosperous Stanford graduate. It is somehow ironic how two brothers could have evolved to become so very different, one writing contracts for large corporate fusions and the other, assassinating people for money. 

He thought about it for a second. It was not hard for him to remember when his ways were settled, for it was one of the most scaring moments of his entire lifetime. He was four years of age, almost five. He remembered the sound of Guns ‘n’ Roses playing in the background, while his father was washing their ‘67 Chevy Impala. He remembered the smell of the potato soup his mother had cooked for dinner. It was winter, and it was already dark outside. He remembered his mother shouting for his father to check on the baby crying upstairs. Sammy had been very young, completely unaware of when the situation was appropriate to cry. His father, however, did not hear his mother call for him, or perhaps he did, but he chose to ignore it out of utter laziness. That was the one thing that would drive him insane later, in quite the literal sense of the word. 

Mary, the mother, had apparently realized that her husband would be of no help, so she decided to climb upstairs herself. She took off her apron, not noticing that she placed it on the still burning hot stove. 

The next scene Dean remembered was the whole house going up in flames. Smoke was coming out of every window and the wood, that the house was made of, was starting to collapse. He held his brother in his arms, promising that he would protect him forever, while both of their parents were trapped inside the burning death trap. 

Never again had he seen his mother, not even before they buried her deep into the ground. His father would not let him, he said that he had to remember Mary as beautiful as she had used to be, and not the way the demon had disfigured her. A demon. His father blamed the entire incident on a biblical creature, never even having read the holy book.

That was the moment when he knew that his childhood was terminated.

The next 20 years were spent trying to find the supposed demon his father obsessed over. He could not count all the innocent people they killed in the process. They were criminals, for sure, but none of them was guilty of what his father has accused them of – none of them was a demon, a skin walker, a werewolf, or any of the other mythical beings his father has came to know in all those years. 

His brother, however, remained shielded from the unorthodox life Dean was forced to live. His father did try to convey him to their lifestyle, teaching him all the different fighting and survival techniques, but Sammy had other plans for himself. He had not known his mother, nor had he known his father while he was still sane, and therefore did not have any strong emotions towards them, whereas Dean knew that once his father went to play baseball with him and threw rocks into the nearby river. That was the striking difference between the two brothers – the strength of the bond they had to their parents.

After their father’s death, Sam was already graduating from university. As an aspiring lawyer he had a splendid future, with the beautiful Jessica by his side, as the complete opposite to his brother, who was wandering from one one night stand to the other, just waiting for the moment when the feds would knock his door down and take him away in handcuffs. The thought of calling his brother for help, explaining that he was murdering people professionally for the past ten years amused him in a strange way, and he smirked.

But the amusement did not hold for too long. What followed was a stone hard heartache, accompanied by thoughts of how and for what reason. He started contemplating every major and minor decision he had ever made, and realized that he would be best off deep inside a bottle of whiskey. 

There was a pub where he used to hang out with his father sometimes. Under the influence of the intense nostalgia that he felt, he decided to pay it a visit.  
“Dean Winchester, as true as I’m standing here” he heard a familiar voice say.

Looking around, he noticed that nothing has changed since the last time he had been there two years ago. The ran off walls, the smell of rotten wood around the window glass, it seemed like the pub was a burden for the people who ran it, as if they were just waiting for it to collapse, so they could finally escape the never ending rabbit hole and start walking a path to an excitingly average life. 

Because, see, this place was not the pub you would walk in to seek shelter on a rainy night. In fact, you would probably prefer the terrifying thunder to this place any day of the week. 

The people sitting around the rusty tables seemed different at first glance. Some wore expensive suits, others rather flannels and ripped jeans. Some looked very untrimmed, with long curly beards and fatty hair. Others, however, smelled of expensive cologne and a lot of gel in their hair. 

But if you took your time to observe more carefully, you would see that they were all the same at their core. Some played poker and used little bags filled with white powder instead of chips, others exchanged plain white envelopes with nothing but names inside. They were all businessmen, and as long as they kept it professional, be their crime murdering people or trafficking drugs, to each other, they were all equally indifferent. 

The quantitative difference between men and women was fairly noticeable. Many times, you would hardly spot any women there. Some were probably scared of it, others simply did not find it nearly as appealing at bars further downtown. Both of those were very reasonable arguments.

Still, there were to ladies never leaving the pub. Ellen and Jo, mother and daughter, owned the place since the death of the husband and father of the family. A drug deal gone wrong, that was the official story, but Dean Winchester knew better. He knew because he was there when it happened. He also knew because his father was the one who killed the man. Of course, he would never tell anybody. 

He usually avoided that particular pub, out of that particular reason. There were many places to hang out in New York, and would spend entire nights in those without any hesitation. But sometimes he got overwhelmed by the feeling of loneliness, and those were the moments in which he had to surrender and visit the place where a picture of his father was hanging above the counters.

“How you’ve been, Ash?” he responded, taking a seat at the bar.

Ash poured a shot of some cheap whiskey into a surprisingly clean glass. The bottle was, ironically, the most expensive one they had.  
“It’s on the house” Ash said. “Good, good” he then resumed. “Same old people, same old stuff going down”.

“How are Ellen and Jo?” Dean asked, feeling a quick, sharp cut around his chest area, and he knew it was guilt.

“They’re doing great. Jo might even go to university. I mean, you know her, she does not want to, but Ellen does not want her daughter to end up serving beer and thighs to dudes like these her entire life. And you, are you still in the business?”

“Sure am” Dean answered cheerfully, with a hint of irony in his voice. Then, he proceeded to take a sip of his drink. “Cheap, but good” he thought to himself.  
“I might have something for you, then” Ash said, more quietly than necessary, “If you are interested, of course”.  
“Oh yeah?” Dean responded, raising an eyebrow. “And what is that?”

“See, two weeks ago a guy walks in, tall, expensive suit, shoes polished, Rolex on his wrist. Orders a whiskey but doesn’t even smell it. Looks around, then looks me directly in the eye and hands me the envelope, not saying a word. Leaves without saying a damn thing” Ash explained, wiping his hands with the kitchen towel.  
“And in the envelope, a name” Dean takes a guess, followed by a non amused smirk.

“No man, an address. An online email provider, but not a conventional one like Gmail or any of that crap. No dude, it’s on the dark net, completely untraceable. Any you know what else was in the envelope? Five grand for me and ten for the hitman. And you know how I know it’s for the hitman? Cause it literally said ‘for the freaking hitman’”.  
“Literally for the freaking hitman?” Dean joked, but he had to admit, he was a little intrigued. Ten thousand meant that someone either knew the prices and wanted some fairly unimportant person out of the way, or they were delusional without any sort of concept of the payments in the business. Still, he promised he would give it a shot and contact the man.

“And hey” Ash said, after handing Dean the envelope, “Bobby Singer is sitting in the back”.

Bobby Singer. Dean had not heard that name in years. How could he, he almost cut off the contact to everyone whom he used to know. Bobby was like his second father, the person who decided to take him to baseball instead to a drug deal, the person who baked him cookies, although having never baked them before. Then he would say “These sons of bitches turned out damn fine, am I right, boy?”

And Dean, not having eaten cookies in years, would just shove them down his throat, his cheeks so full that he feared opening his mouth. The old man would just laugh huskily and pet him on the head. 

For a moment, he thought of going to the back where he knew the old man was playing poker and drinking some liquor he bargained for. A feeling of fear overwhelmed him. He did not fear Bobby screaming at him, even hitting him in the face. No, he could bear that. What he dreaded was his other father turning around to look at him, and then just turn away, without saying a word. And that feeling took over his entire body so drastically, that he pushed himself away from the bar and rushed towards the exit.  
There was only one place where he could still go to find closeness, one person who would make him feel wanted, just like the night before.

He took his phone and rang the number he was given.

“Yes?” he heard the voice answer, sounding a little perplexed. Completely understandable, since no one would expect to be called after less than 24 hours.

“Castiel, hey” Dean said. “It’s Dean, uhm, from last night”

He heard an awkward laugh on the other side. 

“I don’t know what other Dean would call me” Castiel finally responded. 

“You sound, somehow, distracted” Dean said. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, no” Castiel rushed to deny. “I just wasn’t expecting your call, you caught me unprepared” he laughed.

“Yeah, makes me seem needy, eh?” Dean joked. “Doesn’t change the fact that I wanna see you. Are you free?”

“When, tonight?” Castiel answered, noticeably surprised.

“That’s what I was hoping for” Dean admitted.

“Yeah, I am, although I am still a little hangover from last night”.

“Good. I’ll be over in half an hour” he said, and hung up. 

Entering the car, the black impala he inherited from his father, he took a little bag of white powder out of his right pocket. Not so carefully, he poured some onto a sheet of paper that he had around. He separated a line from the rest of the powder, and sniffed it in using a rolled up dollar bill. 

All of a sudden, the tiredness he had felt before had disappeared. Instead he felt hyped and energetic, and even more eager to see Castiel. He knew that the effects of the drug would pass until he reached the apartment, but he did not care. He would not need any as soon as he arrived.

In what seemed like five minutes, he was parking his car in front of the apartment complex. He rang the bell, to which Castiel answered without even picking up, unlocking the door. Upstairs, he was already waiting.

Not wanting to waste any time, a simple “hey” was the only sound that came from Dean. With more force than expected, Castiel felt himself being pushed inside, hitting against the cold, white wall. He tried to speak, but his lips were covered by Deans, whose tongue was already inside his warm mouth. 

“You don’t want a- oh, God” Castiel tried to say, but was interrupted by the tickling sensation that came from the warm kisses being placed on his neck.

“…A drink or something?” he finally managed to say. Dean pulled away from his neck and came very close to his face, not saying anything, just smirking without breaking the eye contact.

“I just wanted to be polite” Castiel said, blushing a little bit. 

He then pulled him down to his face and started kissing him again. Dean seemed more aggressive this time, sort of more playful, not that anyone was bothered by that. They kissed and while doing so, tried walking towards the back of the hall, where they would enter the bedroom, but failed miserably. Walking backwards, Castiel stumbled over his own feet and found himself on the floor. Dean laughed huskily, helping him get up. Clutching around him as if he were scared of falling down again, Castiel kissed his neck, licking it softly from time to time. 

This was the little needed to throw Dean over the edge. He threw Cas onto the bed. First, he unbuttoned his pants, which were then followed by Castiel's jeans. Soon, their underwear was off too. Their T-shirts seemed redundant, so they got rid of those, and finally found themselves naked on top of each other.

“You have a condom, right?” Castiel asked.

Responsively, Dean reached into the pocket of his pants, taking out a Trojan. 

“Extra for you”.

Castiel took the condom and rolled it down Dean’s length, not breaking eye contact. The expressions on Dean’s face were enough to make him come, but he would not admit that, nor would he let it happen. Instead, he reached over for the lube and rubbed it all the way down. 

He loved the feeling of Dean touching him, taking him inside his mouth, but what he loved even more was what was about to come. There was enough time for oral, but right now, he wanted to go all the way. He wanted to feel what he felt the night before without any alcohol flowing through his blood. 

He positioned himself so that he could see Deans face, while he placed him right before his entrance. 

Dean started thrusting in, groaning as if he were in heaven. He made sure he was stimulating Castiel's prostate on his way in and on his way out. Castiel, not being able to withhold himself anymore, started caressing his length, completely lost in the sensation. It didn’t take too long for his abdominal muscles to start contracting and for the air to become short. Knowing that his partner was about to come, Dean surrendered to the ecstasy. A few madness filled moments later he climaxed, guttural moans leaving his throat. Castiel followed, and they both found themselves collapsing onto the satin bedclothes.

 

 

 


End file.
